Eva Lauder

Where do I begin? Yes, I know, from the beginning…but blimey it’s been a bonkers busy few weeks since my last blog. Speaking of bonkers, what’s with the weather in Blighty? Blighty by name, blighted by umm nature? For two glorious weeks the heating was off (Ha! Take that, energy suppliers), waxing appointements were made, summer clothes were donned and bedlinen was reduced from umpteen million throws over a 12 tog duvet to just a 10 tog duvet (I’m getting old and feel the cold, allow it). And now? Well, the heating is back on as is my favourite hoodie and ONE throw. Welcome to Britain, where the weather goes from one end of the scale to the other, like Newton’s Cradle.

So, May 6 saw the launch of my ebook; Being Ines— succeeded straight after by the paperback. Getting there was a long but enjoyable journey. I have made many great friends from the #writingcommunity along the way who have been invaluable to the writing world. In January, I decided that I would query for three months and then look into being an indie author. I’m an indie music lover, so it seemed fitting. People have asked me why I didn’t pursue the traditional route. Honestly? I believe in the book, it’s a great story (in Jay-Z’s words- ‘If I do say so myself’) but I looked into the pros and cons, and although, yes, traditional publishing has the contacts and can help you get your book out there (which is great) I wanted to be in control of my debut novel. This is a book that’s so personal to me, that to then lose the rights, even partially, on my manuscript would have made me feel as though I’d sold my soul.

I made some faux-pas, even post publishing, which I have since amended, but again, learned valuable lessons. I’m working on book 2 as a sequel to Being Ines and this time, I know what I’m doing, should I decide to continue down the indie author route.

In all of this, the biggest hurdle I had to overcome, was to go public about my having Multiple Sclerosis. Very few people on my social media platforms know about it and so, not only writing about the condition in my novel, but writing about it in the ’About The Author’ section was huge. I felt that people would change their view of me and see a disabled person and feel sorry for me. I’ve often thought about talking openly about it on a scale as large as this but couldn’t. Then I thought, ’well it’s not like I’ve got ‘the clap’, so what’s there to be ashamed of?’ However, it took numerous lectures from my best friends to convince me that I really should do it, particularly because the content of Being Ines is so descriptive where physical symptoms and the effects of a diagnosis are concerned. If anyone’s qualified in it, it’s a veteran to MS of twenty-five years, right?

So, here I am. Officially an author who happens to have a crazy and calamitous life, a family that keeps me on my precariously balanced toes and the most wonderful friends…oh and MS. It feels great.

Take care, Eva x ©

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It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog. On a few occasions during this hiatus, readers have sent me messages asking when I’m going to write my next one. Days became weeks and before I knew it, a couple of months. In that time the spammers have had a field day and I’ve spent the first half-hour deleting in bulk. Thanks, but no, I’m not interested in watching home porn, finding a husband on your portals promising me millionaires looking for women like me nor do I want to buy the best Vape.

The kids came home with Covid. Great. They’d escaped it for two and a half years, only to catch it whilst at school. No matter, they got through the virus within a few days, and then yours truly fell prey to the ‘Rona’. ‘But you’re vaxxed!’ My unvaccinated people would cry out, leaving me with no other choice but to reciprocate their statement with such diplomatic eloquence, that even Kofi Annan would have been impressed. ‘Umm, being vaccinated isn’t the same as an immunisation.’

Because I’m immunocompromised, Covid hit me hard. I do not want it again. Bloody awful experience and not something I will forget easily. So, when I was strong enough, my little family and I headed across the English Channel, to see ‘la famille Française’. An opportunity to rehabilitate and for the kids to see their French cousins, too.

Now, we’re all big enough and ugly enough to know about sneaking out at night while the adults are sleeping. What the two older ones don’t realise, is that we were aware of their Great Escapades. What lengths they went to, to perform these antics however is impressive. If anyone needs two nimble cat-burglars, feel free to contact me (I joke). The line and our patience as parents was crossed when the girls had snuck out with barely any phone battery the night before we were heading back for England. True, when we snuck out, mobile phones didn’t exist and there was no way of tracking us down, so we were free to roam, like farmyard chickens. But now, in an era of paranoia, even the most chilled-out folk become sucked into this need for having information about everything, at their fingertips. Trackers for kids are good in some respects but then do we need to stalk our kids? Let hem have fun and experience youth without the fear of the parents calling to tell them that they shouldn’t be where they’re currently at; that’s also when the little cherubs switch off their location and ghost their parents. It’s at this point, I, personally know it’s time to start letting go.

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I’m going through that again. I surprised myself with how relaxed I was with my eldest. She was truthful with me AND I didn’t have a tracker for her, yet she was in London a lot. People asked if I wasn’t worried. Dumb question. Of course, I worried, but I also knew that she was sensible and took my advice. The same applied to her first boyfriend. I knew him and his background. He was a lovely young man. It was time for me to let go. Now I’m at the same place with daughter #2. She has a boyfriend, I have met the mother and I can safely say we were all nervous about the first meeting in equal measure. Once again, I find that the perpetual cycle of the parent and young adult relationship has resumed and daughter #2 confides in me, I trust her and trust in her. She’s happy, I’m happy and that’s how I can let go a lot easier.

I don’t want my kids to be afraid of life. Yes, it’s shitty at times, but they have to learn to fly on their own. We can all breathe easy. Two kids down, one to go….(watch this space).

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Have a great week, Eva x ©

Grrr. FIF…TEE. FIFTY. FIDDY. FIF-DEE…or FIT-TIE. Ugh. Half a century old. This year I’m going to be HALF A CENTURY OLD!!! Excuse the outburst as an opening paragraph, I just needed to vent the fact that I’m turning 50 later this year out of my system. It’s cool. I’m cool— contrary to what my kids think. Phew. I feel like I’ve done a HIT session equivalent to writing.

As my school friends turn that age, I’m grateful that I’m one of the youngest in my year. There was a time when the youngest bunch of us wanted to be older, like our peers. Ha! Not now. My friends and I often discuss the issues of being on the dark side of 40 and all that nature curses us with; let’s be honest here, the prospect of not so firm jawlines, boobies and bottoms and the menopause aren’t exactly appealing. But (pun unintended) we as modern women are going there armed and ready for this new phase of maturity. It’s not just the women either. The men, too are facing this with the same passion as we laydeees.

Gym memberships, fitness and wellness apps are rife. We are also spoiled for choice with ‘expert’ menopause advice. In a generation of modern technology, we really do have knowledge and guidance at our well-moisturised finger-tips. Women and men have never looked so good. Attitudes have changed. Just because we’re getting older, it doesn’t mean we have to accept it, as was the stance of previous generations. Nope. Now, people have fitness/appearance goals. Obviously, not everyone is aspiring to look ten years younger, but we do want to indulge in some physical and mental self-preservation, whatever that means for the individual. Some go as far as having a little or a lot of cosmetic/aesthetic enhancement and others acknowledge that growing old is a rite of passage and just want to look after themselves.

Me, personally? I like to look after myself. I have been asked if I’d ever have Botox/ lip fillers/ fillers but if I’m honest, this doesn’t appeal to me. I’ve been given the privilege of life and what goes with it. If I ‘look my age’ then so be it. As it is, with my friends— guys and gals, we will continue to laugh and despair at our plight… and our fight for some semblance of ‘looking good in our middle-age’, convincing ourselves that we’re fitties in our fifties. On that note, I’m off to do half-an-hour on the static bike and pull ludicrously scary facial exercises—the midlife jowls aren’t dropping with the ease of a bad comedian’s mic!

Take care, Eva x

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A word that conjures so many feelings; be they positive, negative or confusion. Reflecting on events over the last few weeks, I tweeted ( @laulauev ) a short post about it: “even though we may accept a situation, it doesn’t mean that we’re happy about it, it’s just better than banging your head against a brick wall”. And there it is. As humans, do we accept situations that we are faced with, out of open-mindedness or resignation? Is it better to keep the peace rather than rock the boat?

I have witnessed situations that I can empathise with and as such, could give an honest opinion. Being forthright is, believe it or not, a trait in me, that people seem to value. Anyway, back to the task at hand. Sitting amongst family and loved ones during Christmas, I realised there was a really lovely vibe. Was it because I’ve accepted that, although it’s strange to be talking to my eight-year-old half-sister as if she were my granddaughter, it pleased my dad and his young partner? As a result, I had not created any friction between the family. I accept it. I’ve given up voicing my opinions. There was a time when my father’s views of my having a mixed-race child (Ha! I didn’t stop at one, I went for a hat-trick) were downright awful, and although he came to adjust to the fact, the subject became the albatross around our necks. The tables have turned 360 degrees and now he seeks the very same thing that I had. Sometimes, you have to shrug your opinions off your shoulders, for the sake of peace. More importantly, for yourself. For the preservation of sanity.

I recently received news from a friend whose son “came out”. Good for him. I’m so glad he did it now and didn’t live a life of secrecy for years. It wouldn’t have been conducive to the young man’s formative teenage life. Because the masses have fought tirelessly for their rightful place in society, we are more accepting of the change. Schools have made it a safe place for students to speak their feelings and give them a venting platform. As such, it’s an easier transition from uncertainty to certainty.

Then we have the masses that have demonstrated their frustrations during lockdown regulations being imposed by the government. Regulations that caused heartache, depression and upset for thousands of people. Some refused to accept the incessant barrage of rules and chose to live life accordingly. Then there were those who, although resented what was happening (including, me) went with the law, because, well, it was the law. See? Accepting but are not happy with it. Now, it transpires that while we were abiding by the rules, the government weren’t. The result? A nation of unhappy citizens who feel cheated because they obeyed the edict forced upon them, for the sake of family and friends’ health…but at what cost? So, you see. Although being tolerant of certain situations can create a harmonious state of mind, it can also cause feelings of deep resentment.

Be safe, be healthy. Take care, Eva x

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A word that conjures so many connotations. A misspent youth, a misspent childhood, a misspent talent. So much can be misspent. But what about life? Lots of things sadden me, and misspending your life is one of them. At this time of year, we think of loved ones who have passed on. We miss them. We long to speak to them once again, to hold them.
Now, I may or may not step on a few toes here, but my intentions are not to offend: I have grieved the loss of too many people in recent years. Some (in fact most) were too young. Nobody is below the age of forty-seven. A couple have been teenagers. That’s no age. They had so much to give in this world.

You know, to live life to the fullest, doesn’t mean you have to give up your day job and start a YouTube vlog of your adventures around the world (although I wouldn’t say no), and it doesn’t mean that you have to become a mountaineer. It means that you live the life you want. Whatever that entails, it’s your call. If I die tomorrow— which I hope I don’t because I’m still querying for representation, my friends and loved ones know that I left this world, happy. I live my life as fulfilled as I can.

When my grandfather was dying, he told me; ‘Eva, I may not have millions in the bank, but I’ve lived my life the way I want to, and have no regrets.’ Those words left a lasting impression on me. Now, conversely, I know of folk who live with the attitude of their glass half empty. They don’t want to get in the car and drive three hundred miles to a place they’ve never been to, before (yes I am that person who made the drive), or experience life’s rich tapestries. When I ask if they are happy, they shrug and say ‘no, not really.’ They are merely existing. They can’t bring themselves to try and live their lives, in whichever way, that would make them happy. It’s sad. It’s a life misspent. What saddens me, is, that these are people I know.

Me, being me, and quite direct, I often try to encourage them to go and do what they’ve always wanted to. Do you want to get a degree in history? Do it. Do you want to travel to the Greek islands? Then go. Don’t waste your life yearning for something. Don’t waste the privilege of life.

I have major health issues that can, not only be problematic, but darn well depressing. However, I’ll be damned if I don’t do what I want. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Right?

As a result, my kids see, that life is for living and that, mum doesn’t let anything get in the way. This has set the bar for them, and I know that they will embrace any opportunity that comes their way, to being happy. ‘If mum can do it, so can we, AND she’ll navigate us through it.’

Wishing you all, a peaceful, safe and healthy 2022,

Take care, Eva x

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… but my boy left me stumped. He does regularly, if I’m honest with the questions he poses.

It started during half term break and we took a road trip to France. Within seconds (no exaggeration) they were fighting: ‘Get your foot away from my shoulder!’ (The boy was getting comfortable and the engine hadn’t even been fired up) ‘Ugh you’re disgusting! Muuuuum he’s disgusting, he’s farted. Open the window, I’m gobnna pass out!!’

My response was to tell them to shut up, fix up or all privileges will be taken away until we return. Quiet. It worked!

Half an hour in to the drive to Folkestone, and I’m extolling the beautiful scenery of the Sussex and Kent countryside and the early morning mist laying across the fields.’Shurrup loser’ ‘No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend with a face like yours.’ And so it continued. For eight hundred miles. I zoned out, to my credit, but like a ball of Play-Doh that keeps getting prodded, I finally lost it (my self-control not the Play-Doh) and turned into the kind of monster that Greek mythology is made of. Silence. Again. All that could be heard was the rumbling accusations of whose fault it was and the reverberating beats of House music. Then a small voice pipes up; ‘Mum, how do you feel about being a mother?’. Boom, just like that.

Hmm. Conundrum. Tell the truth (as I have always preached to them) or tell a big fat fib (which I have also preached to them about not doing). In my infinite wisdom I went for truth. Going for comedy gold, me!

The truth is, I’m blessed and lucky to have been able to have kids. I’m grateful. Truly. But how do I feel? Really? When I’m faced with the fighting, the back chat, the stroppiness, I ponder why did I sign up for this? They infuriate me until I’m flipping my finger, mouthing obscenities behind their backs or saying out loud ‘FFS now what?’ when they call me. Their obstinate characters makes me want to cry at times. Honestly? I find myself calculating how many more years I have until serenity comes a knocking. Yup. There, I said it. Confessions of a mum.

There are people who don’t have children as a life choice. I get that. Not everyone wants a kid/brood. As a result, they have money in their pockets, freedom to travel and live life as an adventure. My life is more like a rollercoaster at an adventure park— and going without so the kids don’t need to. Sounds like a bum deal, right? Conversely, my kids are a credit to themselves. They excel at all of life’s basic needs to survive, they’re intelligent with great aspirations and all round great human beings. I love hanging out with them, they’re great company (when they’re not being little shits) and when I consider everything, I am actually rather enamoured with the title of ‘Bat Shit Crazy Mum’. They make me laugh, they drive me to distraction and they have taught me many things about myself over the years. Years of self-doubt has been thrown to the wayside when I realise that my biggest challenge has been to bring up three kids in this crazy world and they’ve done me proud. So, in all of this? I’m really honoured to be their mum. That’s how I feel.

Take care,

Eva x

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It’s no secret that my kids, although grown up, take up a lot of my time. Each one is at different stages in their lives, and well, I’m pretty redundant. I’m not “mummy” anymore. That came to a grinding halt when they were old enough to walk to school with their buddies, leaving me with a new found freedom. I decided to embark on my lifetime aspiration of becoming a full time writer. I’ve always written (much of my work is unpublished or has been recycled into eco friendly loo roll…that’s not to say it was only worthy of said job, but much of it, along with my huge collection of DC Comics was inadvertently turned to pulp after a leaking roof.)

Where was I? Ah yes. Kids. Aspirations. You see, I knew what I signed up for when I saw the two lines in the pregnancy test.Three times. I went for a hat trick. Call me Ronaldo. How do you do?

I enjoy being a mum. My little cherubs have grown into strong willed, funny and empathetic young adults. I’ve loved it. They were my little sidekicks. Now, they look forward to hanging out with me and so do their friends. Not too much mind you, because that’s just a tad weird, even for my atypical set up.

So, what’s my issue? It’s this; I have goals. Aside from my regular writing work, I’ve written a book (as yet to be published) which was one of my intentions and currently working on book No 2. I see posts on my social media feed how someone has written 2000+ words in one day. I’m in awe yet feel inadequate. I should be living out my fantasy of sitting from morning until night, surviving on coffee and chocolate, typing away and completing a novel in two months, with another on the way. That’s not my reality however. Mine is when my son walks in (actually he skulks) through the door and tells me how he had a debate with his English teacher during a discussion about Boo Radley. He had to give his opinions on the enigmatic character. My boy is of the opinion that Boo Radley had hygiene issues. Then there’re my daughters. My eldest has adult problems that she needs to discuss with mum. Woman to woman. My second daughter is approaching that stage, so she also needs mum. In between all of this I have to be a mediator during fights, be their negotiator for detentions and issues in and out of school.

Regardless of my own personal goals being relegated to the snail lane, I’m slowly but surely getting there. I am honoured and glad that my not so little kids still reach out to me. I am their mum after all. These are moments they will remember and hopefully bode them well in the future. Someone said I make sacrifices. Nope. I don’t. I’m still living my dreams out, but at a different pace to others. I won’t get this time back with them. My stories are my own so they can take their time getting out there.

For all the chaos in my life, when those three teens announce their love and respect for their “crazy, unconventional mum”, everything pales into insignificance.

Take care, Eva x

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Believe it or not, I’m actually quite shy. Mmmaybe shy’s the wrong word. When I’m faced with groups of people I don’t know — be it on social media or in real time, I tend to sit back, clam up and analyse my environment before I participate in chatter. Then once I’ve warmed up, my shield disintegrates and I’m sociable me. So, for someone who has mostly only been within the realms of Facebook, embarking on my Twitter voyage was unnerving to say the least. I was going public.

I have Facebook and Instagram but that’s within the comfort zone of familiarity. I know my followers. My private photos remain private (yes I know your stuff is never truly private on social media as far as the government, MI5, KGB, Google and any other powerhouse there is out there goes, BUT — and the but is nearly as big as mine) Jo Public can’t see my life. Where was I before I went off on a tangent? Ah yes, my Twitter experience. I was, and in many ways still am, a rookie. However, when I tentatively entered the circle of the writing and Twitter community, I wasn’t expecting it to take me into its bosom and show me just how great it is to be part of likeminded people. I have formed some great friendships and it varies between supporting each other during our writing projects, technical meltdowns (I’m rubbish with techy issues) to offering kindness when we’re struggling, personally.

There’s also banter and a lot of laughter, conveyed through the power of word (as in writing not Microsoft) , gifs and images. Your day can be lifted when you feel bleugh just by a simple message. I’m lucky, because I know there are a lot of negative folk and trolls out there. Although I’ve experienced it personally, I’ve managed to deal with them…again, thanks to the advice of a fellow Twitter friend. I’ve learned so much from the community and they’ve shown kindness. When I thanked one of my Twitter friends, she replied ‘we’re all in the same trenches, so we help each other out.’

So, in a volatile society that we’re living in, ironically, I’ve found peace on social media. Who’d have thought heh? Obviously not me. I am truly grateful to each and every one of those who probably don’t realise what a prop they have been at times and I honestly don’t think I’d have gotten through my manuscript without their help. To make me laugh is tonic to my gin, and more often than not, these people do exactly that. I guess what I’m saying in all of this waffle, is that social media can work amazingly well, if used properly and respectfully.

Right, I’m off for a well earned cuppa and a little chocolate as I wait for my kids to return from after school detention. That pre ‘back to school talk’ lasted all of three days. Aaaanyway, I’m off.

Take care,

Eva x

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…BACK TO SCHOOL No three words are more beautiful than those. Even if Jake Gyllenhaal told me ‘I love you’, I’d be happy but not as happy as when I hear ‘back to school’. Tomorrow I shall watch them trudging up the road towards school and rejoice as they return to detentions, discipline and lots of study.

I love my kids, I do. However, when they’re in the same room/building as each other, all hell breaks loose. Granted my eldest lives and works away from the family nest, but I still have a 15 and 12 year old to contend with. Moving to the coast has been the best decision. They’re feral and living life as kids did in the 70s and 80s. However, when they’re both home and brooding in their respective bedrooms, it’s as if there’s an evil force that drip feeds bad thoughts into their hormonal fuelled heads; ‘do it, do it now’ and one deems it necessary to break the peace by turning into the agitator. It’s then that the screams and abuse starts, usually spurred by my 12 year old boy provoking his 15 year old sister. It’s often like a scene from The Exorcist. I expect to find her head spinning, Regan MacNeil style. True. I get scared at times. Also true. My neighbours must also get scared at times…I’m almost certain the Pastor living peacefully next door prays with his family and congregation for my lot:

The smart mouth retorts, the catty comments and of course the photographic evidence taken during hostile moments (which adds petrol to a smouldering fire) between them, then reels me into the crossfire. I often feel like the third wheel in all of this, attempting to write/work and be a good mum/mediator/peace finder. It’s like standing precariously on the precipice of a cliff, trying to find the right balance, which inevitably goes wrong. I do try, honest. I try my hardest to zone out and to have an objective point of view, averting a ‘It’s because I’m the youngest/middle child’ outburst spewing out at me as if their position in the pecking order is my fault (which technically it is I suppose). See what I mean? I can’t win. Then, they push and push and push until I go bat shit crazy and sound like a trap queen. They bring out my inner gangster (or gangsta/G if I want to sound cool…which I’m not. I’m mum aka Muggins).

I’m grateful that I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to have three kids, I am, truly. They’re smart, strong willed and bloody funny. Conversely, they are exemplary examples of young adults when we go out. When people approach me and comment on what well mannered, intelligent and confident kids they are, I feel that for every potential ulcer and migraine I get, that it’s been worth it. I’m proud to say I’m their mum.

Will I miss them when they go back to school tomorrow? Erm no. You thought I was getting soft, didn’t you? I’m proud of them but I’m not mad either.

So, back to school tomorrow. I have given them the ‘work hard lecture’ but more importantly, I’ve told them to try not to get detentions or into pointless spats that results in beef with other kids. I don’t want to don my Supermum cloak for a while.

Take care, Eva x

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